


Five Hundred Miles

by misslizanne



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 10:49:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1344700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misslizanne/pseuds/misslizanne





	Five Hundred Miles

She invites herself onto the Jolly Roger, making her way below deck to his quarters. He must not hear her enter and traipse down the ladder, because he doesn’t move, just continues to grip the flask of rum she’s so accustomed to seeing on his person, staring blindly out into the starry night, the room entrenched in a soft glow of moonlight.

She excused earlier herself from the war council, something her father insisted on daily meetings of after the Wicked Witch proved to be more than a formidable foe. They met after each battle in the town hall, discussing the next move, checking one another for wounds and bruises, debating strategy, things Emma never imagined possible during the prior year of her ordinary life, the one where she was just a bondsperson, a mother, not the _savior_.

The absence of a certain pirate caused Emma discomfort throughout the council, the loss of that lingering feeling of protection she always encountered in his presence causing her an odd sense of vulnerability. She knew that something must be wrong, must be off for him to miss what he knew was important, what he was an equal and vital part of. It was so unlike him to just disappear like this, especially considering the way her father turned to him with a newfound sense of understanding and admiration each and every time they had a decision to make.

“Hook?” she whispers quietly, and he turns slowly, the fatigue obvious in the visible slouch of his body. She can’t tell if it’s the loss of his customary leather vest and coat or the wear and tear this war with the Wicked Witch is causing, but she feels the innate urge to console him, to soothe whatever is aching him, be it physical or otherwise.

(She wonders if its related to the eleven years of fake memories as a mother, or if it’s just _him_ and the pain behind his stare making her heart clench in a way that seems too unfamiliar for her liking.)

“Ah, Swan,” he answers, smug grin appearing on his lips but never making its way to his eyes. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

She smiles weakly, almost as if she’s apologizing for intruding on his privacy. It’s only when she notices the bloody gash on his forehead that any apprehension she might have had for interrupting him washes away. “You’re cut,” she states, hesitantly stepping forward.

“Am I?” he asks, and she gestures politely to the dripping cut on his skin. He lifts his hand, freeing it from the grip on his flask, and touches the blood, warm under his rough fingers. He winces at the wound, almost cursing himself for letting _her_ , of all people, see him this exposed. “Never mind, Swan. I’ll see to it.”

She steps forward again, halting his apparent need to get up. “No, let me.” She gestures for him to turn completely, and he shuffles his chair so he’s facing her, her fingers cupping his face tenderly as she sizes up the wound. “Where’s the first aid kit I gave you?”

His breath hitches before he leans into her grasp, remembering the speech she gave him upon gifting the kit to him, rambling on about how rum doesn’t heal everything, and that her realm has better means to ward off infections. He didn’t argue, and he doesn’t intend to now, chuckling lightly as he waves his hook to his left. “It’s in the bottom cabinet, love.”

She retrieves it, setting it on the desk next to him and taking out the needed provisions, tilting his head back slightly against the back of the chair. She dabs some iodine onto a cloth before she pauses over his cut. “This might sting a little bit.”

He practically hisses when the cloth brushes against it. “Bloody hell, woman! Rum is never that unforgiving!” He squirms away from her, ducking his head until she finally clutches his head firmly in between her hands.

“You’re acting like a big baby,” she teases, raising an eyebrow at his immaturity. “And here I thought you were a pirate captain.”

He closes his eyes, the adorable sulking proving her statement true as she continues tending to his cut, small hums of content escaping his throat as she gently brushes the raven black hair out of his face, blowing lightly on the burn after each dab of iodine.

“You disappeared,” she interrupts their comfortable silence, and he nods lightly in response as her thumb rubs against his cheekbone. “Why?”

He stills under her touch, his hand coming up to grip the wrist hovering near his face, lifting it down to his mouth and brushing his lips over the top. There’s a quiet that falls between them, and she can almost see the war that’s going on in his head, whether to tell her what he wants to say or keep his thoughts to himself.

“Just wanted to get away is all.” There’s a neutral expression masking the pain hidden within the darkness of his gaze before he tilts his head back, eyes shutting closed again.

“You’re full of shit,” she responds sharply, a small chuckle escaping her throat.

He peeks an eye open. “You got me, Swan.” He grabs his chest melodramatically with his hooked arm, and it causes her to roll her eyes.

“I know there’s something you’re not telling me,” she continues, wriggling her hand out of his grasp to continue nursing his wound.

He sighs, melting into the warm touch of her fingers as she pushes his hair back, fingers running through the hair above his ears, tracing ticklish circles at the skin there. “That wretched witch...” His sentence trails off somewhere into his quarters, letting out a shaky inhalation before continuing. “She could have hurt you today. Those monkeys as well.”

It’s her turn to still, not from his touch, but from the small feebleness of his words, the sound of agony laced within his claim. “But she didn’t,” she reminds him.

“She could have hurt you,” he repeats for her. “When she directed that fireball in your direction, I... I just...”

“I’m fine, Hook,” she runs her fingers across his brow. “Because you were there to protect me.”

He huffs, head shifting to the right to permit her better access to his forehead. “Aye, because you will always have the unrequited love of a pirate,” he mumbles, almost like he’s disgusted with himself.

She dabs some antiseptic on his cut, placing a bandage on it before rubbing her thumb over it. “Unrequited? You really think that?” Her mind wanders to that time on the beanstalk, when he wrapped that scarf around the gash on her palm, the familiar warmth pooling low in her belly as he tugged the fabric flush against her skin with his teeth. She knows that’s when _this_ whole thing started, the kindred connection, the flirty comments, the yearning looks. Even if they didn’t admit it back then, the feelings were always lingering there.

He groans, and when his eyes open, he’s gazing at her like she’s the most mystifying treasure in the world. “Should I?”

She doesn’t know how to answer, and all of sudden her own question has turned on her, forcing her to reveal something instead of the other way around. “I don’t know. I don’t get a happy ending. It’s better this way. Nobody gets hurt but me.” She says it matter-of-factly, and steps towards the ladder, intent on leaving. “I _am_ the savior.”

“Aye, that you are,” he mutters under what sounds like a frustrated moan.

“See. _Just_ the savior.” She makes her way up the ladder, slowly opening the latch when she hears him.

“But that’s not all you are.”

She halts, turning around with an intrigued look on her face. “Then what am I?”

“Are you sure you can handle it?” he questions, and the playful smirk that reminds her of flashy innuendos and sultry temptations forms on his lips, making her shuffle back down the ladder. “I should remind you, love, I’ve had a whole year to think of this.”

“I think I can handle it, Hook,” she answers, arms crossed over her chest.

“Well, for starters, you’re Swan, an orphan girl, and you’re bloody stubborn,” he begins, a teasing glint in his eyes as she leans back on the ladder.

“ _Really_?”

“Aye, _really_ ,” he snaps back, impishly imitating her inflection. “You’re also a mother and a daughter.” His tone grows awfully serious and it’s as if his words are pulling her like a magnet into the captivating aura that always seems to surround him, her feet moving on their own accord towards him.

“Continue.”

He grins widely, and it finally travels up his face to his eyes, so blue and hopeful as they dance over her body, making her feel oddly comforted. “You’re a friend and soon, you’ll be a sister.”

“Anything else?” Her question comes out in a husky whisper, and she’s back where she was only a moment ago, hovering over his seated position.

He’s peering up at her from beneath thick eyelashes, his voice dropping to that of a low tenor, his words flowing in a hushed murmur. “You’re a damn good leader, even if you refuse to admit it.” He holds her gaze for a moment, neither one of them backing down and he reaches for her hand, entwining his fingers with hers. “But most importantly,” he continues, eyes never wavering from hers, thumb brushing slow, calming strokes. “You are the woman I love.”

She swallows hard, feeling everything she’s held back from him bubble to the surface, feelings she’s shoved away to the quiet corners of her mind. She can’t ignore them, not when he’s reading through her as no one has done before, always drifting to her side despite the way she pushes him away, his persistent determination forcing her to see that the savior isn’t a curse, but rather just a part of her amongst all the other titles she holds.

She leans down, cupping his cheeks gently, feeling the scruff scratch her palms as she brushes her lips along his, kissing him softly. He’s motionless under her touch, almost too wary to move along with her until her tongue swipes across his lips and he parts them easily, her tongue eagerly dancing with his, mapping out the corners of his mouth. His arm moves to the small of her back, pulling her down on top of him, and she naturally falls into a straddled position, hips meeting his against the chair.

Her hands move up into his hair as she tugs his head back, gazing into his eyes for a moment, tips of her fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Do you know what you are?” she hums, the deliberate grind of her hips causing his arousal to grow beneath his leathers.

“A pirate?” he jokes, cocking his head towards the hook at his side.

She rolls her hips, reveling in the friction the bulge hidden under his leather provides as it presses against her center. “No, you’re also much more than a title.”

He tilts his head towards her neck, nibbling at the exposed skin as his hook and hand work the red leather jacket off her shoulders. “Do explain, love.”

“You’re Killian Jones,” she whimpers as his hand wanders up her shirt, fingers deftly tracing the skin below her bra.

“Aye.” He regards the soft curve of her hips as her shirt finds its way over her head, lust filled gaze contrasting with the slight tremble of his fingers along her skin.

She traces his jawline, the scruff of his cheek, the scar on his face, the web of wrinkles surrounding his ancient eyes. “You’re a brother, a friend, a... a father to my son.” She runs her fingers across his broad shoulders, absentmindedly trailing down to scratch at his chest through the thin cotton shirt. “Simply put, a man of honor.”

He leans his forehead into hers, fingers threading through her soft blonde locks. Her words, ones that echo from Neverland, ones he never truly believed himself, stun him completely. “ _Emma_...”

“I’m not finished,” she murmurs, placing a finger over his lips before she slowly lifts his shirt over his head and releases her bra from its hold on her breasts. “You’re also a captain, a skilled fighter.”

He drags his fingers across her skin, thumb brushing over her nipple, inhaling sharply as it hardens under his touch. He cranes his head up, licking a long stripe across her right breast, tugging a nipple within his teeth before releasing it with a loud pop. She bucks her hips into him when he repeats the motion on her other breast.

“But most importantly,” she demands, cupping his cheeks again, forcing him to see the sincerity in her statement, to hear the _I love you_ laced within her words. “You’re the man who saved me, who traveled realms to find me, who endlessly protects me. You never leave, you always come back. Do you know how much that means to me?”

His eyes turn so bright blue that it makes her heart swell. Even after everything they’ve been though, her words still seem caught her in throat, so she crashes her lips back into his in lieu of the sentiment she’s trying to utter.

His fingers quickly move towards the button on her jeans, unzipping them and placing a finger under the lacy hem of her underwear, dipping into the warm heat pooling in her core. “Gods, love,” he purrs, his finger rubbing against her folds before easily plunging into her, adding a second finger as her hips ride down hard, cheeks blushing hot as she forces his fingers further into her. “Know this, Emma, I will be the man that will go along with you, will always remain by your side. Always, love.”

She grips tightly onto his bare shoulders, nails digging into the skin as she rolls her hips against him. He leans down to nuzzle the dip of her breasts, placing open-mouthed kisses across the skin there, trailing up to her pulse point and sucking on it lightly.

He’s so caught up in the beauty that is her body writhing above him that he misses when her hands move towards the laces of his leathers, chaotically untying them and grasping onto him, performing languid strokes, thumb brushing over his tip.

His hips thrust into her hand almost in synchronization with the grind of hers, and he bites down hard on her collarbone, teeth causing a red mark to form on her skin. “I promise... Emma, I promise I’ll be the man that will wake up next to you, every day, every bloody day...”

The raw intensity of his words cause her hips to drive down roughly onto his fingers as she clenches around his fingers, her hands gripping his cock tightly.

“Emma, Emma,” he drones, groaning low in her ear, and she can feel her walls fluttering against his fingers, the steely cold of his hook flat on her spine, the tingle of his rings brushing against her clit. “I promise to come home every day to you, because you are my home.”

She whines when he releases his fingers from deep inside her, barely has time to catch her breath before he’s shoving the pants off her legs, ripping off her underwear with his hook and tossing them to the side. She shuffles his leathers down his legs, letting them pool at his feet, his cock pulsing between his thighs.

“You’re so beautiful like this.” He offers her a heated stare that admires every dip and curve, every freckle and dimple and she can feel the blush creeping from her cheeks down to her navel. “You have no idea how many times I’ve dreamed of this. My beautiful _savior_.”

She’s throbbing for him, her _pirate_ , and she glides him effortlessly into her, back arching as he fills her completely in a way she always knew he would, but was too afraid to accept for much too long.

“You’re my _hero_ ,” she murmurs, hands running across his brow, brushing the hair away from the wound she carefully tended to, lips kissing the cut softly. “In Neverland, in New York, even here.” She lifts herself up and crashes back down, a soft cry escaping her throat as he disappears inside of her.

“And I assure you, I’d do it all again, with or without the return of your affections,” he responds, grunting as he holds her hips still, letting her adjust to the size of him before his hips jut up, reaching a spot even further than she imagined possible. “Emma, I was so lonely without you... so lost...”

She shushes him before searing a kiss onto his lips, removing the sound of agony mixed within his tone, her tongue darting into his mouth, swallowing the raspy groan he emits when she rolls her hips against him. She attempts to wash away the year they spent apart, the one he remembers all too well, the one she can sense on his mind with each longing look and warm smile. She wraps her legs around him and the chair, desperately clinging to whatever she can as the white-hot heat begins to envelop both of them.

He reaches a hand down between them, his thumb brushing against her clit as she continues to ride him mindlessly into the chair. “I just wanted to see your smile each and every day,” he groans against her lips. He feels her begin to flutter around him, walls pulsating against his hard length. “I wanted to see that pretty little blush on your cheeks, wanted to sense your eyes when they glitter with passion.”

It’s been so long for him, he tries desperately to hold out until she comes. He leans his head back, forcing her to see the honesty in his gaze, letting her sense the authenticity of his feelings for her. His hand comes up to tangle in her hair, fingers intertwined between curly strands. “ _Emma_ , I would do it all again. I would travel every mile, every realm, every world and land in this bloody universe just to find you again.”

She kisses him again, releasing his lips with a tug of her teeth, trailing her lips down his cheek, across his jawline, evoking a guttural growl from him that sends a shiver straight to her core.

“ _Killian_ ,” she breathes into his ear, and he feels the familiar erratic action of his hips, her legs holding him tightly against the chair like a vice as her walls mimic the motion.

He spills warmly into her, and she throbs around him as she comes alongside him, exhaling hot gasps of air onto the space of skin right below his ear, whimpering as he bites down on her shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise.

Her head falls to the crook of his neck, sweat covering both of their bodies as they attempt to regain their composure. His hand traces idle circles up and down her spine, soft kisses gently bringing her back to her senses, the steady pulse of his heartbeat drumming against her chest.

“Is there such a thing as true love’s sex?” she jests when she’s finally come down from her high, lightening the heavy mood they placed over the quarters, thick with heartache and affection and healing and love, so much _love_. Her lips calmly caress his neck, nuzzling into the scruff of his jawline.

He chuckles low and raspy. “Well, I suppose if there was...” His sentence trails off uncertainly, and she can hear the doubt in his voice as she raises her head to look at him, hand cupping his cheek, thumb brushing over the bandaged gash on his forehead.

“I suppose this would be it, _pirate_ ,” she teases, laughing breathlessly at the smirk growing on his lips.

“If you insist, _savior_.”


End file.
